A Good Joke
by Bellpeppermustache
Summary: When Chief Balagog calls a meeting to discuss trade with a nearby villiage, what started as a run of the mill get together devolves into a heated debate. This promts Yakhu, as spirited youngster, to take it upon herself to provide a little comic relief.


Chief Balagog was often said to be too soft of a leader, relying heavily on diplomatic means to solve disputes and secure resources. Under his leadership, it was customary to hold a monthly assemblage, with particular emphasis on the first one for each season. His father before him had always demanded the unquestioning loyalty of the stronghold and seldom opened the decision making process up to lesser members. Over this practice, Balagog and his father had clashed numerous times, and when the Chiefdom finally fell to him, he resolved to change it.

Many in the stronghold felt that the functions wasted more time than they were worth. However, for one rambunctious youngster, Yakhu, attending the monthly assemblage was one of the few things she managed to take seriously. For one thing, her mother would likely have stretched her hide across the tanning racks if she didn't. In addition, the assemblage was one of the few opportunities she had to be close to her father, as his chiefly responsibilities left him little time to spend with his many children.

In her eight years of life, she had yet to so much as be late for one of these functions. This day, her streak ended. She had spent the early morning hunting game birds and become lost. By the time she found her way back to the stronghold gates, everyone had already assembled inside the longhouse. There was nobody around to open the gate to let her in, a minor frustration for one such as her, and she went around to the backside of the stronghold where a large Oak spread its branches overtop of the wall. She climbed up the oak and over the wall. Once inside, she ran towards the longhouse as fast as she could will herself, but had to slow down abruptly as the sound of angry voices alerted her to the tense conversation taking place within. She carefully unlatched the door and tiptoed her way towards the back of the gathering where she seated herself on grain barrels that lined the walls.

From her vantage point, she could see that Balokh, her second oldest and strongest brother, had been the source of most the shouting. He stood near the front of the crowd, vigorously championing a raiding party to secure grain from a nearby village. Chief Balagog, face wrinkled in frustration, shook his head in disapproval.

"I see no need to take by force what we have always been able to secure through trade."

"With all due respect to your position," replied Balokh, his voice taut with thinly veiled anger, "you must have noticed an increase in the prices these villagers demand for their goods. Last year, you could get anything for a couple of good venison haunches. This winter you could hardly get a basket of worm-eaten apples for a whole forrest full of game."

"This winter was hard on everyone, not just the stronghold," the chief replied. "I see no reason to turn on our allies because of one bad season."

Yakhu snuck a little closer to the crowd. It was difficult to hear the exchange from where she was, but its intensity was not lost on her. The movement caught the chief's attention, and when his eyes met hers, he gave a small nod, letting her know she'd been seen. No matter, she thought. She was confident that she would be able to talk her way out of any punishment for her lateness when the time arrived. Now was the time to secure a better seat.

Balokh, who was barely aware of the exchange that had just taken place, continued his rant. "One season is enough to teach them that they can tighten their fists with us. I'm willing to bet that, if we don't stand up to them soon, we'll hear a lot more 'hard winter' stories in the future."

A figure rose from the crowd. It was Yumaz, Yakhu's mother and the chief's Hunt Wife. "You wish to speak, Yumaz," asked Chief Balagog.

"Indeed."

"Then proceed," he said, yielding the floor.

"I, for one, am in favor of taking a hard line against these inflated prices. Perhaps not to the extent that Balokh has proposed," she said, nodding to her nephew. "They have always been fair with us in the past, but a display of strength may be in order to prevent them from attempting to take advantage of our relationship."

The chief frowned. "Loyalty to one's allies in times of hardship is a form of strength too. I refuse to take an aggressive stance without cause to suspect bad intentions. In doing so, we risk losing their friendship entirely."

Balokh snorted in disgust. "Wait, father, are you listening to yourself? Friendship? This is a trade agreement."

"Balokh! Hold your tongue," shouted one of the stronghold elders. But the young orc refused to back down.

"We are not these people's friends and they are not ours," he bellowed, marching towards the front until he was almost in the chief's face. "There's not a single person in Hammerfell who wouldn't burn our stronghold down for a pocket full of gold, and getting cozy with any of them is putting us in prime position to be stabbed in the back."

The crowd watched the chief's face carefully, looking to predict his next move. Some murmured to their neighbors in concerned tones. Balagog stepped forward, forcing his son back a bit, and gave a deep sigh. "You speak from a lack of experience with people. Displays of strength are all well and good for strangers, but we've been trading with this village for years."

"All the more reason to be cautious," replied Balokh, unsatisfied with the chief's reasoning. "Time has caused you to let your guard down. Your attachment to these people blinds you and makes you weak."

"That's enough, Balokh," shouted his mother, Sharat. "You will respect the decision of your chief."

"I will not honor weakness, mother."

"Our chief is not weak. He is exercising prudence."

"If that is so, he does not need you to defend him. Let him speak for himself. Go on," he said, turning back to Chief Balagog. However, when their faces met, the expression on the chief was anything but dignified. His mouth had twisted into a tense pucker, the hint of a smile forming at one corner.

"What are you smirking at," demanded Balokh.

The chief coughed and took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Nothing," he said. "Just a stray thought. Continue."

Balokh, though still suspicious, did as instructed. He repeated his request for an explanation only to be met with more smirking, this time accompanied by audible laughter. The chief tried in vain to corral his mirth and soon slipped from hissing and snickering into chuckles, which in turn grew into full blown guffaws. Balokh turned his head towards the crowd to find the source of the hilarity and followed the turned heads further and further back. The crowd's gaze came to a focal point at Yakhu, who was standing just behind the farthest reaches of the crowd and, unable to hear much of the discussion, was amusing herself by making faces until someone noticed.

These antics had caught the attention of the chief, who attempted to contain his mirth rather than call for his daughter to be disciplined. Ultimately, however, her game was discovered, and her mother Yumaz took it upon herself to remove her from the longhouse. Grasping the girl firmly by the hair, Yumaz dragged her outside, promised her a proper beating when the meeting was over, and locked the door. Yakhu considered hiding amongst the crags behind the stronghold, but realized that it would only delay the inevitable. After sulking in front of the longhouse for a few moments, she went to the barn and kept the goats company for the remainder of the meeting.

It wasn't long afterwards that orcs started to file out of the longhouse and return to their daily tasks. Chief Balagog walked out with his son Balokh close behind. They were discussing trade policy quite civilly, in contrast to their heated exchange just a few moments prior. When the discussion had ended, Balagog sent his son off with a hearty pat on the back.

Yumaz wasted no time after the meeting in tracking down her unruly daughter. After dealing a thorough lashing with some spare leather straps, she presented her to her father.

"Now you will apologize for disrespecting our chief," she said, pushing her forward. Balagog looked down at Yakhu, and then back at her mother. With a nod, he sent her off to get back to work. Once the matron had left, the chief turned back toward the longhouse door.

"Come with me," he said, holding the door open. Yakhu followed him inside where he motioned to a stool by the fire. She huffed and took a seat. Balagog pulled up a chair and sat across from her.

He cleared his throat and, in his most businesslike tone, said, "That was an incredibly disrespectful thing you did, Yakhu."

The girl looked down at her feet, avoiding eye contact. "I know," she mumbled, rubbing her shoulder where her mother had imparted this knowledge to her just moments before.

"Is that so," asked Balagog. "Then tell me. What compelled you to stand up and act like a clown in the middle of a meeting?"

Yakhu looked up and replied, "You all were getting too angry. I figured if I didn't do something, you'd have each other's blood on the floor in no time."

The chief considered her words for a second and smiled. "There is wisdom in that," he said. "And to tell you the truth, both your brother and I were a lot more civil with each other after a good laugh. Perhaps if you refined that sense of humor of yours, it would prove to be quite useful."

Yakhu's troubled countenance faded into a smile. "You think so," she asked.

"Of course I do," said Balagog. "There's much more to leadership than just barking at everyone to do what you want. A strong leader uses a variety of tools to rally people to their side. Humor is one of them. And although you're little prank was, well, unfit for the occasion, your ability to read the room and know the atmosphere needed some fresh air was impressive." He got up from his eat and went to open the longhouse door. "Now, I'm sure Yumaz has too much for you to do for you to sit inside with me all day."

Yakhu was confused. "Wait," she said. "You're not going to beat me?"

The chief laughed. "No, no. Your mother already saw that," he said, pointing to a prominent welt on her shoulder. "It's important for you to show respect to those in authority, of course. But I don't want to come down on you too strongly, lest you lose sight of your particular gifts. You're a clever kid. Don't forget that."

Beaming with pride, Yakhu left the longhouse. Outside, Yumaz was waiting for her.

"Well," she said, gruffly. "Have you learned your lesson?"

"Yes," answered Yakhu, trying to stifle her smile. "I know what I did wrong. And I know how I can do better in the future."

"Good," she replied. "Now get back to work. Too much time pondering your lesson will leave your chores unfinished."

Yumaz walked away. From where Yakhu stood, she could see that the door of the longhouse was slightly ajar. Inside, Chief Balagog stood peering out through the opening. He smiled and nodded to her approvingly before stepping back inside, still struggling to hold back laughter from one of the more colorful meetings the stronghold would ever see.


End file.
